


To Take A Throne

by thefairfleming



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you mean to take my throne from me, husband?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Take A Throne

**Author's Note:**

> Another 800-ish word fic, inspired by all those lovely EW pictures this week, namely the one with Emilia laughing and holding Longclaw.

               He still surprises her.

               Nearly a year they've been wedded, and Daenerys would have thought there was nothing more to learn about Jon Snow. But as she walks into the empty throne room and sees him sitting there, reading over a piece of parchment, Dany finds herself shaking her head in bemusement.

               Men have killed and died to sit upon the Iron Throne, but from the distracted look on Jon's face, he does not even realize where he sits. He's often this way, lost in his thoughts, and she has teased him more than once for brooding.

               She teases him again as she ascends the steps. "Do you mean to take my throne from me, husband?"

               Jon glances up and seems to realize where he is. He chuckles ruefully, and she expects him to apologize or make a remark about his thoughtlessness.

               Instead, he lowers the parchment and leans back, still smiling slightly, his eyes dark and unreadable. "And if I did?"

               Her lips lifting in a grin, Dany stops before the throne, looking down at Jon which is something of a novel experience. Also novel is the taunt in his voice, and no. This quiet, solemn man who can still make her laugh when she least expects it will never stop surprising her. Or delighting her.

               "Well," Daenerys says, leaning forward, her hands braced on the arms of the throne. "I suppose if you did, I'd have no choice but to take it back."

               Jon lifts his eyebrows. "With fire and blood?"

               It lights a fire in _her_ blood, the way he says that, and Dany is still watching him carefully as she reaches down. Jon tenses, clearly anticipating her touch, but rather than lay her hand on his thigh, she pulls Longclaw from its scabbard.

               Stepping back, Daenerys holds the sword, heavier than she'd thought it would be, out in front of her, its point only a few inches from his throat.

               "With blood at the very least," she tells him, narrowing her eyes. "Fire only if you refused to submit."

               Jon sits further back, making himself more comfortable and with another one of those unreadable looks, he throws one leg carelessly over the side of the throne. "I don't think I will submit," he says lightly despite the Valyrian steel wavering just in front of him. "It's a damned comfortable seat."

               That makes her laugh, loud and free, the sound echoing around the throne room, and the sword wobbles in her grip.

               She stumbles with the weight of it, still giggling, and Jon moves lightning-fast, sitting up to tug at her waist even as his blade clatters to the stone floor.

               Letting him pull her astride his lap, Daenerys can hear one of the guards clear his throat and knows they'll all be tactfully turning their backs now, just as they always do. It's not the first time her guards have turned a blind eye to their queen and her consort.

               She ducks her head to kiss Jon, a quick, almost chaste press of lips, but still enough to make her sigh happily and roll her hips over his. Jon's grip on her waist tightens and this time when they kiss, there is nothing chaste about it.

               "Do you mean to seduce me into giving up the kingdom?" Daenerys asks against his lips, and Jon smiles.

               "That idea is not without a certain appeal, Your Grace."

               Dany hums with agreement, moving against him, their kiss a languid slide of tongues and lips as Jon shifts in the chair, trying to get closer, his grip falling from her hips.

               She has just placed her hands along his jaw, his beard prickly underneath her fingers, when Jon makes a faint, surprised grunt.

               Wincing, he pulls back a little, lifting his hand. A drop of blood wells there, and Dany makes a soft clucking sound, dabbing at the cut with her skirt. "See what you get for trying to take what's mine?"

               Jon merely shakes his head and goes to kiss her again, but Dany keeps her lips from his. "Perhaps we should retire to our bed," she says as she leans back, letting him skim another kiss along her throat. "You could pretend it's the Iron Throne."

               And then, with another roll of her hips that has him gasping, she slides off his lap and offers a hand to her husband. "I might even let you win it."

               Jon takes her hand, his skin warm against hers, and rises from his seat. "Only if once I've won it, you'll try to win it back," he answers, and there is enough suggestion in his words to make Dany's cheeks flush and heart pound faster.

               "That, my lord," she says, tugging him away from her throne, "is a promise."


End file.
